


Across the Miles

by MyHeartBurnsThereToo



Series: My Heart Burns There, Too [3]
Category: IT - Stephen King, it 2019 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Mutual Pining, Past Mentions of Abuse, Romance, non graphic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-10-28 06:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyHeartBurnsThereToo/pseuds/MyHeartBurnsThereToo
Summary: Ben and Beverly make their reluctant return to the real world, and pretty much everything goes downhill after that.





	1. Chapter 1

_“Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours_

_to win or lose.”_

_—Lyndon B. Johnson _

There was something unequivocally otherworldly about New York City after the sun had gone down. Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets were still overflowing with people rushing to and from the vibrantly lit shops, or just simply seeming to stop and take it all in; a vast array of staggering, singing drunks that spun in circles with their arms out wide. It spoke of a complete sense of ease that Ben could feel down to the very marrow of his bones, a surge of solace that screamed _I’m home! _and_ It’s over! _in an endless torrent of assurances.

Nonetheless, despite the all-encompassing joy Ben felt about being back in the city, there was a part of him that unquestionably ached. Beverly was right, as she always was, but after twenty-seven years without her, followed by nearly two weeks in her company—in her heart, in her arms, in her _bed_—to be devoid of her now was to be without the sun. A single glance at that hesitant, worried profile and suddenly no time had passed at all, he was that same horribly awkward preteen boy looking into the striking green eyes of a goddess. What followed that initial burst of euphoria had been a waking nightmare, but they had survived. Broken and beaten, devastated and hollowed. Alive, if not quite living.

Ben sighed and pressed his hands further into his pockets, tilting his face upwards and letting the crisp breeze wake him enough to make it the five blocks to his penthouse. Peaceful slumber was a privilege, but the line between rest and total, unwitting submission was a precarious one at best. Night terrors lurked constantly, just barely held at bay during the day, which made them exceptionally ravenous at night. The twisted snares of his unconscious mind, their own personal hunting ground. He had made the choice to deny them their horrors last night, with Beverly’s form pressed snuggly against him, her head tucked perfectly under his chin and their legs tangled beneath the cool sheets of the room. Her flight was scheduled to leave in the earliest hours, so he had spent the night stroking her hair and murmuring a litany of soothing words every time she whimpered or frowned in her sleep. If it would help her, he would lie awake beside her every night until she could get the kind of undisturbed rest she deserved. The silent protector of her dreams.

“Mr. Hanscom?” An inquisitive voice and a deliberate blink brought him back to reality, breath-taking emerald green slipping from his minds eye and being replaced with the far less impressive visage of his apartment building. The man standing in front of him—_Louis_, his name tag supplied—looked rightfully confused, flickering his gaze from Ben to the street. ”Welcome back, sir. Your car…”

“Is already parked in the garage,” Ben finished for him, handing the increasingly bewildered valet his keys. “I needed the walk. It’s been a long few days.” Louis nodded, taking the keys without another word and ducking briefly out of sight before popping back up with a wide smile.

“Would it be unwise of me to assume that you parked in your usual spot, sir?”

Ben chuckled, ruefully, and once again shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not unwise at all. I'm a creature of habit.”

* * *

“As I live and breathe! Look who decided to grace us with his presence!”

Ben shook his head, even as a wide smile broke free. Keegan was sitting deliberately in Ben’s chair, legs crossed and balanced against the thick wood of his desk. There was a trademark smirk on his lips, a glint of mischief that was as painful as it was familiar dancing merrily in squinting blue eyes. His normally messy blonde hair was neatly combed, parted and gelled; his suit immaculate and pressed. The rest of the office team had welcomed him back with smiles and warm greetings but of course, Keegan was the exception. Simultaneously one of the most immature people he had ever worked with and the hardest worker he knew. A walking contradiction. “Yes, I have returned. And now, I would like to get back to work. That’s my desk.”

Keegan uncrossed his legs and swiveled, taking special care to make sure he took as long to rise as physically possible. “Benny! You’ll be proud to hear that I absolutely _destroyed _our pitch to the contractors in California and they are eager to meet with the genius who created such a ‘breathtaking display of today’s modern building practices’. Of course, I had to break the news to them that you were unavailable for the foreseeable future—seeing as how you dropped off the face of the Earth and all—and made the executive decision to send Allen over.”

“Good choice, Connor’s eloquent enough to carry his own in a conversation and knowledgeable enough to answer any questions they may have. Did you send him with my notes and blueprints?” Ben sank down into his chair with a small sigh and lifted an eyebrow at the amount of candy wrappers and soda bottles in his previously empty trashcan. The rest of his office appeared to be mostly untouched, with the exception of the garbage can and a half-eaten bag of peanut M&Ms tucked in between the wood of his desk and the keyboard.

“Of course! Like I said, you’d be proud of me.” Despite the disapproving look Ben shot him, Keegan perched himself delicately on the corner of the desk and heaved an over the top sigh. “I really don’t know how you do it, Benny. Sitting in that plush chair, day after day, barking out orders and taking naps in between meetings… I won’t lie. It was tough. There were days I wasn’t sure I would be able to make it through with all the pressure.”

Ben ignored him and leaned farther back in his chair, glancing out at the overcast sky before leveling Keegan with a searching look. “So, did anything go wrong while I was gone? Any fires I need to be made aware of?”

“Well, Sarah’s pretty upset. Turns out the owner of her apartment complex just sold the building, and these new owners don’t allow pets. Jack talked to his university, but he can’t have pets either so they’re trying to find a good home for Cayden. Put up flyers and everything, but no luck so far.”

Ben frowned, looking through the window of his office and spotting Sarah, eyes downcast as she entered something into her computer. There wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile on her face, the normal positivity and optimism that essentially radiated from her noticeably absent. “I'm sorry to hear that, and I’ll be sure to keep an ear to the ground. What about professionally? Any difficulties?”

Keegan shrugged, reaching across to grab the bag of candy and unroll it, popping a few in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “None that I know of. I already told you about the pitch to California and Connor. So, unless something happened during one of my naps, I think we’re in the clear.”

Before Ben could do anything other than roll his eyes, a new voice cut in. “Yeah right. He was almost as bad as you are, and we basically had to drag him from the office most nights. Kept this place moving though, sir. Busy.” Ariel grinned and offered a bag that he took immediately, the familiar scent of chicken and avocado emanating from it. “Your usual. From the place just down the block. I know it’s a little earlier than you normally order, but it looks like it’s about to rain and you know how finicky Marco gets about the weather, I didn’t want to risk him closing up early. Welcome back, sir.”

“Ben,” he corrected immediately, glancing over at Keegan and stifling a laugh at the look of absolute betrayal he was giving their assistant. “Just call me Ben. And this is perfect, thank you, Ariel.” The way she wrinkled her nose just the slightest bit at his request told Ben that wasn’t likely, but she didn’t outright deny it either. Instead, she merely nodded and murmured a quiet goodbye before turning on her heel and walking away.

“Yeah thanks, Little Mermaid!” Keegan called at her retreating form, which earned him a disarmingly sweet smile followed by a choice finger. Ben chortled, choked on his chicken salad and was still laughing as Keegan pounded him on the back.

* * *

The clouds had finally broken, seconds after Ben closed the door to his apartment. Floor to ceiling windows offered him an excellent view of the rain-slicked sidewalks, despite how high up he was. There was movement, people rushing through the rain, specks against the dark blur of lights and concrete. Still though, he sat with his back against the wall, the ground cool under his palms, and watched as those specks ran through, constantly slipping in and out of his field of vision. The first tear caught him by surprise, sliding innocuously down his cheek and landing with a soundless splatter against the hardwood of his floor. It was so blindingly obvious now, all of the similarities in the people he had chosen to surround himself with were echoes of the group he had departed from weeks ago. Keegan had Richie’s attitude, if not quite his mouth. It was in the way he held himself, the little spark of mischief gleaming in his eyes.

And how many times had he heard Ariel vehemently protesting the idea of buying food from a street vendor because of health reasons, or list all the possible ways that whatever plan they had concocted could go off the rails? The relationship he had with his assistant wasn’t the stereotypical one, Ben knew. If it were, she would have been terminated on the spot for the way that she had behaved towards Keegan, who ranked her. He was the senior partner and Ben’s go-to person for any questions he had, the one he trusted to handle things while he was gone, and yet his only response to Ariel’s actions had been laughter.

Ben traced the path of a raindrop with a single finger, watching with unfocused eyes as it slipped down his window and eventually disappeared. The street lights reflected off the slick surface of the sidewalks far below him, stretching endlessly until they met another patch of light. It created a dizzying illusion of colors, an endless myriad of reds and greens and yellows—specks still rushing through, gray figures cutting across the surface of swimming lights. A gentle buzzing pulled him from his reverie, Beverly’s name flashing across the screen of his phone. The one person he couldn’t find an echo of in anybody.

“Hey Bev.” The greeting got stuck halfway in his throat and Ben cleared it, getting ready to try again, but a soft sound cut him stopped him in his tracks and dispelled any thoughts of lights and colors. It wasn’t quite a sob, but it was close enough that he was five seconds from booking a flight to Chicago and confronting Tom himself. “Bev?”

Another soft sound and then, “Yeah. Sorry. Hi.” Her voice cut out after that and Ben waited, hand bunched into a fist on his leg. The floor that had been so cool only moments ago seemed to be heating up under the palm of his other hand and he forced himself to relax, to breathe in and out until Beverly spoke again. “Sorry. I’m just—Have you ever been in a bad situation, and you knew it was bad, but it wasn’t until you left and came back that you realized it wasn’t just bad. It was _toxic._ L-Like poison and so draining and I lived with it for _years_.” This time when her voice broke off, it was definitely on a sob.

Tom Rogan was a dead man. Ben locked his jaw and took a few more deep breaths. Beverly didn’t need his rage right now, regardless of the fact that it was directed at her soon to be ex-husband. She needed compassion and comfort and love. “I’m sorry, Bev. I’m so sorry. Can I do something? Anything?”

“You’re already doing it. God, you're just—” she chuckled, and the sound left him lightheaded with relief even as his heart hammered in his chest. He was what exactly? Helping? Inconsequential? “Amazing. You're amazing, and I _knew_ that but seeing Tom again and listening to him spit his nonsense… it just reminded me.”

Ben felt himself heat up at her words and coughed lightly to stall, glancing out the window at the smear of red light against the still glistening concrete. He could relate. She didn’t like it when he deflected her compliments though, so he didn’t breathe a word of protest… not out loud at least. “Whatever you need, Bev. I'm serious. I would—” The list of things he would do for her was far too long to put into words, starting with booking a flight to Chicago and ending somewhere around murdering her ex. “Whatever you need.”

“We meet again tomorrow. Or, our attorneys meet on our behalf. And then we present the paperwork and reconvene on Tuesday.” Ben perked up at that, mentally replaying her last words to make sure he hadn’t misheard her. Tuesday. It was only Wednesday night; she could be there by Thursday morning and spend a long weekend with him. He could show her around and take her to some of the less known places that the city had to offer, thoroughly distract her from all the negativity and pain she was going through. And yet, even as he had the idea, he dismissed it. Beverly had been clear when she said she needed space. He wouldn’t impose on her wishes.

“Okay,” he settled on instead, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from saying more than that. “Okay. Listen if you need _anything_, I'm here for you, okay? Seriously anything. Always.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment before he heard her shaky exhale. “I know. I know you are. I love you, Ben.”

The glass was wonderfully cool pressed against his cheek. Ben watched as a long patch of red suddenly turned green, reaching forward until it melted into a stretch of yellow. He glanced up at moon, somehow knowing that Beverly was doing the same thing from a thousand miles away. “I love you too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atticus Finch is a fictional character in Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird, which was published in 1960. For anyone who hasn't read it, Atticus was a lawyer who had a good morals and wasn't afraid to fight for the underdog. He is referenced here in the sense that Beverly's lawyer was named Atticus by his parents in the hopes that he would grow up with the same set of values as the fictional character. 
> 
> This is the chapter where our past mentions of abuse and non graphic abuse tags come in. I tried to handle the situation as delicately as I could, but it is written in Bev's perspective so please read with caution.

Beverly glanced at the pack of cigarettes in her hand with pure, unadulterated longing. It promised a respite, relief from the absolute chaos that was ensuing around her. Temporary relief, but relief none the less. Shaking fingers pulled out a single cigarette, grabbing at her lighter with unsteady hands before both fell to the floor. From across the narrow table, Atticus watched her with concerned eyes. He didn’t say anything, though, for which she was grateful. There had been more than enough words spoken for the next several years, and she was tired of them. Tired of all of it. _Exhausted._

The silence on his end last for a few more tense seconds before he coughed gently and gestured at the pack and lighter. “Need a hand?”

“Trying to quit.” Beverly admitted, staring blankly at the discarded items. She didn’t _need_ them, she wanted them. There was a difference between the two words. At least, that was what she had been repeating like a mantra in her head for the last thirty-six hours. It had been easy with Ben, the familiar cravings all but nonexistent with him around.

Everything was easier when Ben was around. 

“Tom denies ever being violent with you,” Atticus stated, predictably, and ran a hand through his gelled back hair. When they had first met up, he had been vibrant and passionate, assuring her that all of this would be over before she knew it. Now though, he seemed less sure. He looked subdued, his tie the tiniest bit askew and that gelled hair sticking up slightly towards the back of his head. “We knew this was coming, Miss Marsh. We knew he’d deny it. This is not over.”

Wasn’t it? She had no proof, no sign of abuse. In every picture scattered around what used to be their house, she was positively _beaming _and for all intents and purposes, Tom had not only been a model husband, but a model citizen. He volunteered at the community center, worked with the local at-risk youth, attended every city function without fail…

Beverly felt the world give a sharp tug and suddenly start to spin. She was going to be sick. The slick surface of the table started swimming before her eyes, the multitude of papers strewn about blurring into an incomprehensible sea of white.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Atticus rose from his chair and lowered himself until he was kneeling across from her, leaving a good four feet of space between them so she wouldn’t feel crowded. It was a kind gesture, and she wished she could find the words to tell him how much she appreciated it, but nothing came out. Her voice was gone, choked back behind thick tears that she absolutely refused to shed. “You know why my parents named me Atticus? They believed in fighting for justice and the honesty, no matter how messed up the situation was. They believed that the truth prevails overall and I’d like to think that I’ve done a good job in upholding the hopes they had for me.” He cast an irate glance at the door that separated them from everyone, from Tom and his own attorney. “I believe in you, okay? I believe in you, probably more than I’ve ever believed in any client I’ve had before. Now I need you to believe in _me. _I’ve never lost a case before, Miss Marsh, and I don’t intend on that changing.”

Beverly nodded, sniffling, and angry with herself for crying. It had welled up the second she saw Tom, his cold, black gaze boring into her from across the hall. It was unfathomable, how she had ever convinced herself that those bitter eyes had looked upon her with love. Tom didn’t love. He couldn’t. He possessed, he owned, and he lusted, but he did not love. He wasn’t capable of it. “I know, I’m sorry. I do believe in you its just… we’ve got nothing. He holds all the cards and—”

“For now. He holds all the cards for now. In cases like this, nine times out of ten, the abuser slips up. He’ll make a mistake, and when he does, that’s when we strike.” Atticus sighed, and once again looked at the door, though with far less acrimonious this time. His gaze was pensive, thoughtful, the gears in his head turning right before her bleary eyes. “We’ll strike, but first, we’ll sleep. Its been a long day and I have a feeling tomorrow will be another. Get some rest.”

She could argue, fight for them to stay locked in this little room until they found _something_, some smoking gun or bloody dagger, but her eyelids were drooping at an alarming rate and she simply didn’t have the energy. That sea of white was only half visible to her now, and Beverly nodded. “We rest. Then we get him.”

* * *

Oblivion didn’t come easily. In truth, she hadn’t expected it to. Not really. It was strange though, how close she’d felt to falling asleep in that cold, stiff chair and now, surrounded by pillows and huddled comfortably under blankets, she was wide away. This was the first night in a little over a week that she was sleeping by herself, having been far too worked up the previous evening to even attempt it, and while she was independent enough not need somebody with her at all times… Ben’s arms around her had made her feel safer than she had ever thought possible. He was secure and warm, her rock when she felt like everything was breaking apart. Like _she_ was breaking apart. Tearing at the seams. Beverly wanted to call him, but it was nearly one forty-five and New York was an hour ahead. It wouldn’t be fair to call him at almost three in the morning just because she couldn’t sleep. 

She gave up after a few more minutes of lying completely still with her eyes closed and instead stared at the ceiling. There was a full moon out and it provided enough of a glow for her to see the slight cracks above her head, faded artwork hanging along the walls and bathed in the pale, ivory light. Tom couldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him. Their divorce would be processed regardless, but their company was another story entirely. Sharing it fifty-fifty meant his continued involvement in her life, attending galas and shows together, weekend calls and staff meetings. If seventy-five percent of the company went to her, it was just enough leeway to block out everything that had to do with him and his plans.

She could run the company her way and any changes he wanted to make had to be passed through her, from a chain of people above him. Tom would never accept that, though, so that left this. Attorneys and court dates, judges and paperwork. The only other choice would be if she walked away and there wasn’t the _slightest_ chance for that. He may have broken her spirit, but Beverly refused to let him steal her company from her. Her entire life had gone into this line, and he had taken more than enough. If she had to fight to her very last penny, she would do so without hesitation. 

With a concentrated effort, she pushed away all thoughts of lawyers and courts and Tom. All that darkness was the absolute last thing she needed, and it certainly wouldn’t help her fall asleep. Finding something good to think about wasn’t a challenge in the slightest, because despite all the overwhelming negativity she felt at the moment, there was one bright, shining light that refused to be so much as dimmed. Ben. His smile and his laugh, the way he held her at night, protective and completely without ever crossing the line of possessive. He made her feel cherished and safe, like she could do absolutely_ anything. _He trusted her and—

Trust. _Trust. _

A dozen alarm bells went off simultaneously in her tired head and she flew upright, hand already desperately grabbing at the small bedside table for her phone. It took her uncooperative fingers two tries to dial the number, shaking as badly as she was. Still though, she’d barely had the device pressed against her ear for two seconds before Atticus answered, his voice sounding gruff with sleep. Beverly winced when she glanced at the clock and noticed it was two thirty. “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I realized—” The wind was knocked out of her sails as soon as the thoughts finished processing, reality breaking violently through her hazy mind.

“Miss Marsh? Is everything okay?” The genuine concern in his voice made her smile tremulously, even as her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. There would be no going back from this. 

Beverly swallowed, thickly, and shook her head, more for herself than him. No, everything definitely wasn’t okay, not in the slightest. And doing what she was about to do would probably only made things even more painful, but it would at least prove that she wasn’t lying. Her smoking gun. Steeling her spine, she took a deep breath. “I think I may have something. That slip up you were talking about. Can you meet me here at seven?”

* * *

The grim line his mouth was set in made Beverly swallow and hug her knees to her chest on the small bench, the cold press of metal against her arm not even registering as Atticus sat himself next to her. She could hear birds chirping, distantly, but most sound was drowned out by the terrified thundering of her heart. It was eerily quiet outside, barely past seven and judging by the dark circles under the eyes of the man next to her, he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than she had. Still, he was dressed impeccably as ever, hair combed and neat. “Well?” She managed at last, unable to bear the silence a second longer. Without saying a word, Atticus handed her a thick manila folder that she somehow hadn’t noticed him carrying. Trembling hands pulled out cardboard stock paper, reading the black, bold words with uncomprehending eyes.

“Release of Liability form.” He explained before she had the chance to question even further. She watched as he swallowed, tucking his hands under his legs, pining against the bench. His gaze was somewhere far away, eyes scanning the horizon, watching the slowly rising sun. A quick look showed golden waves splashing over the expanse of lush, green grass directly across from them; a beautiful sight that she was far too antsy to appreciate. “It basically means that no matter the contents of these tapes, we can’t hold them accountable in any way.” Atticus untucked his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms and shot her a tired, sardonic smile. “My best guess is that Tom paid them to keep quiet should they see anything, and this is just them covering their bases now. It also means that whatever’s on those tapes…”

“Yeah.” Beverly agreed shortly, grabbing at the pen he offered with sure fingers and signing immediately. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t moral. They should have spoken to the authorities. She should have spoken to the authorities. They should have done something. She should have done something. She should have left a long time ago. Money was an excellent motivation, and as much as she hurt at the thought of someone watching what she went through and doing nothing, she wasn’t naïve enough to think it was their job. She wasn’t some damsel in distress, and life wasn’t a fairytale. It had been her decision to stay. For years and years, she had _stayed. _

Atticus took the envelope back from her and closed it up with a tight nod. He looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it at the last second. Instead, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze of encouragement and rose, walking back into the deceptively cheery building with his head held high. Beverly took a steady breath in, and trained her eyes on the rising sun, hoping against hope that it was a good omen.

* * *

To look back on a dark moment, months and months later, was jarring. She could clearly remember her cluttered thoughts, coming up with an excuse for each time Tom brought the belt down. In those instants, every bit of pain he had been inflicting was entirely her fault. If she had just been a better wife, a better designer, a better person… the list was endless. Even when his hands had closed around her neck and her thoughts had gone from cluttered to muddled and hazy, she had still blamed herself. She _remembered _so clearly, such loathing in her thoughts, and all directed at herself. Never at Tom.

Not anymore though.

It had taken a while and a lot of conversation, but in the end, Beverly decided not to send the judge the tapes. Not just yet. It was completely unorthodox and probably violating several unspoken regulations, but there were extenuating circumstances. And she was _tired_.

With her permission, Atticus had taken the tapes directly to Tom and his attorney, and after allowing herself a moment of panic, Beverly had followed him through that door and held her head up to hold Tom’s gaze as their counsels went back and forth. Finally, they had started playing the first tape, just the four of them in the room, and she had the upmost privilege of watching her ex husband’s face drain of all color, his eternal smug grin falling flat into a look of pure, unrestrained terror. Victory was short lived though, as she watched herself cower on the tiny screen. There was a sense of complete detachment from the woman clearly begging for the whipping to stop, and less than five minutes later, Tom’s attorney had seen more than enough. Before the door had even finished closing, Beverly had heard the shouting start.

“I don’t think we’re going to have much of an issue getting Tom to comply with your demands now, Miss Marsh.” Atticus’ voice brought her back to the moment, his gaze pleased but shadowed, the upward turn of his lips not quite genuine. There was a weight about him that he hadn’t had when she’d first met him, only days ago. It felt like longer. Much, _much_ longer.

Beverly bumped his shoulder gently with her own, trying to rouse that same smile he’d had only twenty-four hours earlier. The videos had been damaging for everyone, but not enough to warrant the detached look in his eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t break your streak.”

Atticus grinned faintly at her weak attempt of a joke, kindly ignoring the way her voice had tripped over the words and cracked at the end. “It’s not quite over just yet, and truthfully, this doesn’t feel much like a victory, Miss Marsh. Its…” He exhaled, slowly, and let his head fall against the wall behind them with a gentle _thud_. “My father told me, back when I first started law school, that I would have more than one case that stuck with me. I didn’t understand, every case faded eventually but this one… I think you might be the exception. For what its worth, the hard part is over. Unless Tom is desperate to have those videos be _everywhere_, I don’t think he’ll present much of a problem.”

She wanted to respond, to thank him for everything that he’d done, for the hope he’d given back to her but a pointedly cleared throat drew their attention to where Tom’s attorney was standing, beckoning Atticus over into a far-off corner. Even from a dozen feet away, the man was clearly uncomfortable, and optimism flickered up, thawing the icy lump of dread that had settled around her heart. Atticus gave her another smile, this one far more genuine, and she felt the last few knots of tension deep in her stomach loosen, just a little.

Beverly watched him walk away, then hurried outside the stuffy building and took in deep breaths of the fresh air, trying to calm her racing heart. The sun had almost entirely set, and she dropped gracelessly on an iron bench, her phone in her hand, the line already ringing. There were tears in her eyes that made everything blurry and unfocused, the last fading hues of color in the sky smearing together in a kaleidoscope of pinks, oranges and blues. 

Ben picked up on the first ring.


	3. Chapter 3

It was still raining.

Ben clearly remembered waking up in a cold sweat by a blinding flash of light, and he’d hardly had time to reassure himself that Pennywise was dead before the next round of thunder shook his building and another flash of lightning cut a blazing arc through the deep gray sky. Now though, most of the heavy stuff had dissipated, leaving only those thick, dense clouds in its wake. A softer, gentle rumble of thunder reverberated throughout his penthouse, and Ben put the pencil he’d been sketching with down on his desk and settled in the watch the last remnants of the storm made its way through the city.

He hoped that Beverly was safe. She had assured him that there wasn’t as much as a cloud in the sky in Chicago when he asked about the storm, and Ben didn’t have the courage to rephrase his question. The _storm_. While the one dying down outside was as beautiful as it was terrifying, the one she had to face was no doubt just terrifying. Her voice had been heavy with tears last night, a slight rasp in it that he hadn’t said a word about. Instead, he’d pulled out the big guns and spoken every line of poetry he’d ever written for her, and then made a few up on the spot when the conversation showed no signs of ending. The way his face had absolutely _flushed _was more than worth it though, when that first musical giggle broke through.

Because while he considered himself a fairly levelheaded person, Beverly was an exception to that. She was the exception to everything. His feelings for her had transcended words, went far deeper than any kind of love he’d ever felt before. She wasn’t just the exception to everything; she was _everything_. The first person he thought about when he woke up, his last thought just before falling asleep.

It was incredibly cliché, he knew, but there was something about her that made him want to do all of those cliché things. Long walks on a moonlight beach, candlelit dinners, bouquets of roses just because… Ben looked outside again and grinned. He wanted to dance with her. Maybe not in the downpour that was happening right now, maybe not in the rain at all, but he wanted to dance with her. He snorted out a soft laugh at himself, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. The cup of coffee still sitting at his elbow wasn’t steaming anymore, but it was warm enough to be tolerable, and if he was having thoughts this sappy, this late in the afternoon, then he clearly needed it. Despite all the poetry he had recited to her last night, it had been far more tolerable than what had just flashed through his mind.

Love wasn’t a tangible thing, and yet, he could _see_ it. It was in the way she moved, when the sun hit the burning embers of her hair and everything about her seemed to emanate that light. It was in the way her eyes lit up when she saw him, that tiny grin that curled at the corners of those tempting lips. The way she snuggled closer into him at night, even while fast asleep, her arms wrapping around him in a vice-like grip. Because of the fact that his heart _ached _at the time spent apart, and in the little thoughts of her that refused to go anywhere.

That same gentle buzzing, identical to the quiet vibration from last night, made his heart race in anticipation and Ben grinned, rising to move and sit back in that same corner; dragging a small, plush chair with him this time. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.” It wasn’t something he would have felt comfortable admitting until recently, when he realized that if anyone deserved to know just how important they were, it was Beverly Marsh. He’d make an absolute fool of himself any day, for the chance to make her smile.

Instead though, he was treated to a soft chuckle that made his stomach flutter like he was still a teenager in the throes of his first crush and not a grown man. Then again, considering his first crush was the woman he was head over heels for, Ben thought the reaction was justifiable. “Hm. Good thoughts?” Her voice was playful, if slightly strained, and he felt that fluttering still almost immediately.

“Any thoughts about you are good thoughts.” Ben held the phone against his ear, letting his head rest against the window again. It was far brighter outside than it had been the last time they’d done this, so the display of lights against the sidewalk was less dizzying, but still enough to hold his attention while he listened to Beverly breath shallowly on the other end of the line.

“Charmer,” she responded finally, and then there was a soft _thud_ that made his heart skip a beat before she spoke again. “Have any big plans for the rest of today?”

Ben settled himself more comfortably in the chair, watching with rapt attention as another bow of lightning flashed and arched brilliantly, flooding the overcast sky temporarily with a blinding light. “No, not really. I spent most of this morning drawing up paperwork and sketching out designs for next week. Nobody made it to the office, bad weather day.” Which was okay, he thought to himself. Going over the reports hadn’t been nearly as daunting as he had imagined it would be. For all that Keegan tended to act like an overgrown child with the attitude of a teenager, he was an extremely hard worker. In all the time he had been gone, there wasn’t a single hiccup of an error. Everything had been documented and reported with a surprising level of efficiency. “What about you? Any plans?”

Her answering snicker puzzled him, but it was a vast improvement over the tears that he had heard in her voice earlier, so he chose not to comment on it. “Sort of? I mean, nothing concrete but I have a pretty good idea of how I want today to go. Time will tell, though.” Ben nodded in agreement at her pronouncement and looked back out the window, watching as a dark-hooded speck hurried presumably into the building. Brave soul, whoever they were, because it was still coming down in sheets out there. Across the block from him, he could just barely make out the bright neon sign at Marco’s flickering off and Ben shook his head in wonder that he had stayed open as long as he had.

While the worst of the storm had mostly moved on, the rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Still though, there were several people milling about; some ducked under canopies, some very deliberately standing frozen in downpour. What had managed to capture his attention, though, was the couple he saw swaying. From as high up as he was, the faces and forms were indistinguishable, but the way their bodies moved left no doubt that they were—quite literally—dancing in the torrential downpour. Only in New York. He watched them with a wistful, soft smile for a few long minutes before Beverly’s voice coaxed him back to the moment. “Could you—do you mind doing something for me?”

Ben sat straight up in the chair, clutching the phone in his hand a little tighter as that warm, fluttering feeling evaporated immediately. His heart had started beating harshly at her soft question, and he forced himself to take a slow breath, to calm down. If something was truly wrong, she would have told him ahead of time. They wouldn’t have made small talk for the better part of fifteen minutes. “Yeah of course, Bev. Anything.” 

Another, softer giggle that made him feel just as confused as he had the first time she laughed but sent a wave of relief throughout his entire body, nonetheless. Definitely okay, then. “Nothing too drastic,” she promised, and Ben shrugged silently to himself. When it came to Beverly, there was no ‘too drastic’. He didn’t say that though, sure that his quota for corny, romantic musings was still met from all the poetry last night. “Can you let me in? Because its seriously drafty out here and you definitely were _not_ kidding when you said it was pouring.”

And just as suddenly as his terrified heart had calmed down, it was racing again. Ben startled, violently, and made to rush out of his chair, managing to somehow trip over his own feet and just fell short of falling flat on his face since he refused to hang up the phone, in the incredibly likely case that he had misunderstood her. However, the sight of a sopping wet Beverly greeted him the instant that his door was opened, wearing a black hooded raincoat that he vaguely remembered seeing while looking out the window. His brave soul, rushing through the storm.

She offered him a sheepish grin, pushing her hood back and running a hand through those rain-soaked, burning embers. The other hand, the one holding her phone, disappeared into her pocket for half a second before reemerging and loosely grasping the strap on the duffel bag slung across her body. “I’m sorry for just showing up like this, but I figured—“

That’s as far as she got before Ben finally snapped out of his stupor and _lunged_, wrapping himself around her as securely as possible and breathing in the scent of sweet, subtle vanilla and the far more apparent, deeply earthy smell of fresh rain. The hard, plastic strap on that bag of hers dug painfully into his chin, but he could not have cared less; because the tangled mess of anxiety and heartache that had been inflating since he had left the airport, her goodbye kiss still tingling on his lips, finally, blessedly _popped. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for Adult Themes in the first part and later Bev goes a bit more in-depth about what happened with Tom. 
> 
> Non graphic abuse and mentions of abuse.

She was shivering. He could feel it, the fine tremors of her body reverberating against his. There was the slightest hitch in her breath when Ben skimmed his lips against the wet skin of her neck, gooseflesh pebbling in his wake. Pausing, he let out a slow exhale of warmth and brutally suppressed a shiver of his own when Beverly melted against him completely. His phone had fallen to the floor when he had rushed to embrace her and Ben kicked it back carelessly, reveling in Beverly’s burst of surprised laughter when he lifted her into his arms and carried her giggling form inside, bag and all. The strap of the bag cut across her shoulders and she shifted around in his hold before finally managing to grasp it and duck under the coarse material, the bag landing with a soft _thud _and a rustle of fabric as Ben kicked the door closed behind them. Cool, slick fingers held his head still, her eyes never leaving his. There was something heavy in her gaze, something dark and sad that definitely hadn’t been present when he had last seen her, but before he had the chance to question it those fingers slid into his hair and brought their lips together.

Kissing, Ben realized, wasn’t as cut and dry as he had originally thought. The first time they had kissed—truly kissed, without the murky waters of lake quarry acting as a boundary—had been electric. Raw, unadulterated desire fueled by terrible loss and the last fleeting remnants of adrenaline. Those were the passionate kisses that made his head spin and bright lights flash behind his closed eyes, the ones usually exchanged right before or while they made love, with her body pressed tightly against his own and the taste of her skin heavy on his tongue. Gentle, sipping kisses when they woke up intertwined, half asleep and unhurried beneath the canopy of blankets. Soft pecks that were nothing more than the press of lips as they passed each other.

This kiss was entirely new, though. Far more tongue and teeth than lips, and not at all gentle. It was passionate and heavy, dark and electric as the storm clouds that had filled the sky a few short hours ago. Her raincoat was discarded haphazardly next to his phone, tugged off quickly by impatient fingers. Beverly pulled back with a sharp gasp, her half strangled “_Fuck_” barely registering in his scrambled thoughts before those lips attacked the skin of his neck with sharp, biting kisses. Ben faltered slightly, catching himself on the wall with his shoulder before strengthening his grasp on her wriggling body and stumbling in the direction of his bedroom. The onslaught didn’t so much as pause, not even when he half lowered, half fell onto his bed, Beverly still in his arms.

Her body arched up toward him when Ben pulled back, that haunting emerald nearly swallowed entirely by the black of her pupils. And yet, for all that they couldn’t be any closer together, there was still distance in her, a closed shutter that made him swallow thickly and take stock of their positions. “Bev—”

“Don’t.” Beverly pressed a finger against his lips, eyes glittering when he pressed a tender kiss against the digit. That heaviness was back, suffocating, doing its best to snuff out the oxygen in the room. Something was wrong. “I love you. I love you and I know you love me, but I need this, okay? I-I need this. No words. Please, Ben?”

Gently, he pressed another kiss to her finger before moving it, leaning down to touch his lips to the crease between her eyebrows. As much as he wanted to drop it and move on, he knew they couldn’t. Letting her carry around that poison would take its toll, eat her alive from the inside-out. Ignoring this wouldn’t fix it or make it go away. But that didn’t necessarily mean that they had to talk about it right this second. “We need to talk, Bev. Later?” Beverly nodded, relieved, and reached up to cup his face for another kiss, tender and light. Thoughts mostly clear, Ben once again took note of their positions. Any other time they had been together, he hadn’t really noticed, but with her eyes being as shadowed and troubled as they were… Nothing was worth making her feel trapped, even unintentionally. There had to be a measure of power here, for her. An idea, beautiful in its simplicity, made the corners of his mouth twitch upward before he flipped them over and smiled at the squawk of surprise she gave. “You’re in charge, okay? You set the pace. You're in control.” 

Her eyes glistened with more tears, but before Ben could worry that he had made a mistake or misread the situation altogether, she stretched the entirety of her body against his and kissed the thoughts right out of his head. “God, you're amazing. Absolutely perfect. I love you so much.” The slick muscle of her tongue traced the shell of his ear before he could say it back, and Ben groaned, sweat beading along his temple. Teasing fingers trailed down the length of his chest before reaching the bottom of his shirt and painstakingly undoing the buttons, mimicking the first time he had done this by pressing a kiss to each patch of skin she bared. Beverly’s breath was hot, quick puffs of air that ghosted over the hard edges of his abdomen, her fingertips stilling as that steady patience seemed to fail because the rest of his shirt was torn off with very little ceremony, buttons pinging as they scattered. 

* * *

The steak had been cooked to perfection, despite Ben’s reluctance to leave it sizzling in the pan for too long. Beverly was still, presumably, sleeping soundly in his bed, curled under his sheets and blue comforter. It was the contrast, more than anything, that had left him breathless under her. The flaming red of her hair was so much more vivid with the deep, black backdrop behind her lithe form. And after, when she had toppled gracelessly onto his heaving chest with a contented hum, he’d hardly had enough time to tuck the blankets around her before those haunting eyes had slipped closed and her breathing had evened out.

She needed the sleep.

That much had been obvious, from the moment he had opened the door and saw her. Not even the overwhelming joy that had flooded him at the sight of her, nor the haze of pleasure that followed almost immediately after, had been enough to distract him from the dark circles under her eyes. Sleep was important, and while he knew that she also needed to eat, there was harm in letting her rest while he finished cooking. The steaks were done, but the potatoes still needed to be mashed and the asparagus hadn’t been roasted either. It wasn’t what he had envisioned cooking for her, but there would be time for grand, romantic meals later. For now, there was asparagus to roast.

“It smells amazing in here.” Ben jumped slightly and spun around, holding the asparagus in front of him like a shield. Beverly flicked her eyes around the kitchen with genuine interest before settling on him and the vegetable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” To her credit, it was obvious that she had at least tried to check the amusement in her voice, even if it didn’t quite work. He still appreciated the thought.

“No, no. It’s fine. You didn’t—I mean, you did, but that’s partially on me. I was just…” Ben lifted the asparagus, gesturing vaguely behind him to the pan. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” It was exactly what he had been trying to avoid doing since he saw the slight tinge of redness in her eyes. Exhaustion. Still beautiful, still spellbinding, but exhausted. And while he wouldn’t have traded their time together in bed for anything, he did wish he had tried a little harder in convincing her to take a nap first.

Or tried at all.

“Please. There are _far _worse ways to wake up. Can I help with anything?”

Ben looked around before shaking his head slowly. “I just have mashing the potatoes and roasting asparagus left, and that really won’t take long.” Steam was still rising from the potatoes in dense, opaque clouds of heat, the smell of starch and steak seasoning vying for dominance in the open space. Too hot to mash just yet, after all. “Actually, I have a few bottles of wine in the top right cupboard. Is wine okay?”

Beverly made a throaty sound of agreement, a deep vibration that made his pulse beat just the slightest bit faster. Telling himself to cool it, Ben flicked the heat down on the burner and took a step back. “I think that I had a step ladder somewhere—_” _

The sound of her giggle at any other time would have turned him to absolute putty, reduced to schoolboy blushing and stammering, sweaty palms and all. However, with her standing so decisively on top of his counters, unabashed in the dim light of his kitchen, graceful as a dancer when she stretched up on her toes… Suddenly, he had forgotten how to speak at all. Ben could still move though, a fact that he was immensely grateful for as he bolted forward and planted his hands gently on her waist. Light enough not to frighten or startle her, but firm enough to be readily available in case she slipped on the marble surface. It was a precarious line to walk, but he did it gladly, and with more than a little pride. Not in himself of course, never in himself. But in her, a goddess who embodied every virtue of strength in her slight form. His brave soul, who held tight to his hand when she was afraid and held tight to his body as she took her pleasure.

The courage, to be open with him, to let him see her at her most vulnerable… It was an honor. And while he didn’t quite see himself as a knight in shining armor, and Beverly certainly wasn’t a damsel in distress—there would be no greater purpose, than protecting her for the rest of his life. But he was getting well and truly ahead of himself, with thoughts like that.

Too fast. _Much _too fast.

From above him the was the slightest huff of breath, a quiet sigh and then, “Red or white?”

“Whichever you want.” It was the one answer he could give, the only one he didn’t have to think about. Whichever she wanted, _whatever _she wanted. Truthfully, she could have handed him a bottle of pure lemon juice and he would have happily drank it as long as she sat across from him while he did.

“I asked _you, _Ben. Red or white?”

Ben frowned slightly, glancing over momentarily at the steaks beside them. It was red wine, wasn’t it, that paired well with red meat? It was heavier, but surely there was a correlation between the drink and the food. There was a flash of memory, when they had gone out to eat at a steakhouse and Beverly had gotten wine. Her head tipped back to swallow, the muscles in her pale neck flexing gently with the motion.

Her lips had tasted sweeter than the white chocolate cheesecake they shared, the slightest streak of raspberry sauce on her chin that Ben kissed carefully away.

“Ben?”

“Red.” He managed finally, letting his eyes flutter closed for half a moment. “Sorry. I was… thinking.” It was a gross oversimplification, but better than admitting he’d been trying to remember one of their very first dates so he could pick the wine she was drinking. Besides, he was almost positive it had been red wine.

Another throaty sound, this one lilting a bit at the end that made him beam senselessly in adoration. He _loved _her. The fabric under his hands shifted as Beverly turned and sat the bottle down with a soft _thumb, _before lowering herself to gingerly sit next to it. Her legs stretched out before he could move away, a foot gently locking behind his knee to coax him half a step forward. There was something unnerving about having the full force of her gaze locked on him, green eyes piercing and bright with knowledge. Ben wondered, not for the first time, if she knew how completely she had him; body and soul.

Her word was his law.

More than anything, he wanted the rest of his life to be defined by _her. _With her. They had already lost so much time together, twenty-seven years that they couldn’t get back. Ben didn’t want to waste another second. “I love you.” He’d been thinking it so hard, replaying those three words over and over in a constant loop at the back of his mind, that it took him a long moment to realize he wasn’t the one who had said it.

* * *

“Have you heard of Parker McCallister?”

Ben startled imperceptibly at her abrupt question, setting his wineglass down before taking a moment to think. Parker McCallister… The name didn’t register anywhere in his books and Ben shook his head slowly, settling back into his chair. “No, I'm sorry. Is he a friend of yours?”

To his surprise, Beverly snorted out a humorless laugh and took a long drink from her own wineglass. “Not exactly. He’s an up and coming designer, actually from somewhere in Brooklyn I think.” She paused to take another sip of wine, staring with unfocused eyes into the deep, mauve colored liquid. “I met him a few years ago. We just happened to cross paths while I was here on business and we started talking. His designs were good, a little rough around the edges, but good. I knew that Parker had more than a little potential to be a big competitor in the near future, so I made the choice to make him a partner instead. I gave him my card, let him know if he was ever in Chicago to stop by.”

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, like a boulder settled where his food was supposed to be. It was in the way her shoulders hunched, like she was drawing into herself as her eyes went unfocused and glazed. Ben swallowed thickly and moved his chair just the tiniest bit closer, being careful not to crowd or frighten her. Wherever she was going, whatever abyss she was jumping back into… at least this time he could offer a hand to hold as she fell.

“He called about a month later. Tom was away on a business trip and I had stayed behind to keep an eye on things. We had lunch the next day, talked about his designing process, compared sketches… it was innocent!” Her eyes cut to him suddenly, willing him to believe her. Ben nodded in wordless support; hands clenched tightly together under the table. In the distance in front of them, he could see the jagged edge of the cliff they had to climb—no, not they. She. The jagged edge that _she_ had to climb, had to drag him up because he didn’t know. He hadn’t _known_. “Tom was gone for a week and I had invited Parker over, because I had a whole room in that damn house dedicated to designs and ideas, half-finished sketches and thoughts. I was so excited for him to come home, so ready because I thought he would be proud. I wanted to make him proud.” There was an almost childlike vulnerability in the way her voice wavered, one that made his already aching heart crack.

At some point her hand had wrapped itself tightly around her wineglass and Ben reached over as carefully as he could to tug it out of her white-knuckled grasp, offering his hand instead. She clutched at it, her fingers weaving between. It was too easy for him to imagine the glass shattering under her tight hold and cutting into her skin. She was strong, far stronger than even she knew, and the glass didn’t stand a chance. Nothing did. Not against Beverly Marsh.

“Tom walked in while we were in the sitting room. There was a whole table between us, filled with notes and sketches. Parker was polite, introduced himself and Tom played along. I could see it though, in his eyes. The rage. And as soon as Parker left…” Beverly swallowed and tightened her grip on his hand. “I remember asking him why he didn’t trust me, _begging_ him to trust me. Telling him, promising that it was completely innocent. He didn’t listen. He never did.” Her fingers tightened around his, and Ben squeezed back as hard as he dared. She had managed to drag him up the cliff, but there was still the matter of jumping into whatever waited below. He squeezed again, in wordless reassurance. She had to fall, but he was going to be falling right along side her. She wasn’t alone, not anymore.

And she never would be again.

“He took us away, after that. A weekend vacation, time to clear our minds.” Beverly snorted out a humorless laugh, her eyes going vacant and blank. “I thought maybe it was his way of apologizing, admitting that he was wrong. And then we got back home. He had cameras installed, and the only reason I found out was because he charged it to our joint bank account. So, I confronted him and he… he said he wished he didn’t have to. That if he wasn’t stuck with a _whore_ for a wife, then he wouldn’t need the cameras.” She smiled, a toothy, vindictive sort of smile that had absolutely no humor in it whatsoever. “That ended up being his downfall. Those cameras. Once I remembered them, I called Atticus and we got the tapes. God, Ben, you should’ve seen the bastard’s _face_.”

“Bev I…” Ben swallowed, and then brought their clasped hands up to his lips until he could kiss the back of each of her fingers. The rage was ever present, of course, knowing what he did about Tom Rogan. But now, it wasn’t just present—it was blinding. A bubbling sort of darkness that probably should have scared him but instead made him feel vindicated. “I would kill him, for you.” For her, for every mark and every scar he had left her with, both physically and emotionally. It would be the very least he deserved.

Her fingers slipped from his, and Ben felt a flash of panic that he had said too much, gone too dark, _scared_ her… and then she was cupping his face between cool palms, an odd sort of pain behind her eyes. “I know you would. But he’s not worth that. He’s not worth a second more of our thoughts, or our time. He’s certainly not worth your life.” There was a tranquility in her voice that made the relentless bubbling cease, the anger seeping out until it could be pressed to the back of his mind, where it belonged. Ben nodded in understanding, letting his lips press against her palm before he laced their fingers together again.

And this time, when she smiled, there was a light behind her eyes to match it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry that I have been gone for so long! I actually got a promotion at work, which was completely unexpected and while I am unspeakably grateful for it, most of October is a blur of meetings and paperwork and learning the innermost workings of my job. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m very sorry again, and I promise that on a multi-chapter story at least, I’ll never disappear for a whole month again!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any specific prompts you want to see written or just want to chat, I'm on Tumblr at https://myheartburnstheretooao3.tumblr.com


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